A True Baratheon
by LordTheo
Summary: AU. Robert Baratheon had a true-born son with Cersei. How will he affect Westeros? OC/Sansa
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: ASOIAF rights belong to G. R. R. Martin. This is Fan Fiction._

_**A True Baratheon**_

It was a cold and stormy night, thunder echoing throughout the Red Keep, lightning flashing across the sky as torrents of rain were unleashed from the heavens. It was as if the world was being washed away, such was the magnitude of the storm, and yet the cries of a woman could still be heard, above all the noise of the tempest.

Cersei's screams filled the birthing chamber. She had laboured for twelve hours, the pain excruciating, but finally the child was emerging from her womb. Midwives crowded around the Queen, jostling each other as they cared for her, mopping up blood and wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"Push Your Grace! Push!" Cersei instinctively followed the commands of the midwives, screaming in agony as she finally pushed the babe from her body. As she did so, there was a huge crash of thunder as a bolt of lightning lit up the room, the crash deafening the women inside.

The cries of the baby replaced the screams of agony, as a midwife cradled the baby in her arms, checking for any signs of problems with the birth. Satisfied, the midwife carefully placed the newborn-babe in its mother's arms, smiling as she did so.

"Congratulations Your Grace. It's a boy." The midwife turned to the others standing there, shooing them out to leave the Queen with her son and her brother Jaime.

A smile spread across Cersei's face, despite the exhaustion and pain she was experiencing, as she reached for the swaddling-cloth covering the babe's face. _Another child from Jaime. Another true Lannister._ Pulling the cloth back, however, she felt as if her heart had stopped. Looking up at her was a babe with sapphire-blue eyes and tufts of jet-black hair. _This is not Jaime's child! How could this be! I was so careful, I went to the woman every time that fat oaf lay on top of me, this must be some cruel joke, I-I-I can't raise __**his**__ child. __I can't. _As a wave of hopelessness swept over Cersei, the babe smiled at her, cooing as he reached for her breast instinctively. She brought his mouth to her nipple and allowed him to suckle, sitting in shock. She raised her head to look at Jaime, who smiled weakly as he turned to leave the room, barely able to disguise his disappointment.

"Jaime, I-I'm sorry." The words barely escaped her mouth she was so choked with anger and shock at her child's origins.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. He is a beautiful child." _But he is not yours. _Jamie smiled sadly at Cersei, before turning and walking out of the door, ushering in Cersei's first-born Joffrey, before closing the door quietly.

"Mama?" The young child toddled over to his mother, looking in curiosity at the bundle in her arms. The storm terrified him if the stain that had spread across the crotch of his nightclothes was anything to go by.

She reached down, helping her son climb up onto the bed before pulling him close and comforting him.

"It's okay my sweet. The storm cannot hurt you, not in here." She sobbed into Joffrey's shoulder, her grief overcoming her, as he looked on in fascination at his newborn baby brother.

"Brother?" The little prince said as he looked up at his mother.

"Yes. Brother."

…

The next day dawned bright and peaceful, birdsong lifting the spirits of the servants as they went about their duties. The tranquillity of the capital was a world away from the melee of the storm, a storm befitting the birth of a Baratheon. Dappled sunlight shone through the trees landing on the Queen's face, warming her as she sat in the gardens, cradling her newborn son. Surrounded by her babbling courtiers, she simply sat looking at her son, blocking out all the noise. She was still unable to comprehend how she had conceived a son with Robert, but she had been unable to maintain her rage at her mistake as she held her son in her arms.

_Even if his father is Robert, even if he is not a Lannister, I love him. He is so beautiful, so perfect, so tiny, I cannot believe he comes from the seed of that oaf. No matter. I will raise him as best I can, and I will do my utmost to ensure that Robert does not make him a replica of himself. I could not let that happen. Not to my son._

Her reverie was shattered however, when the sound of clattering hooves reached her ears; Robert had returned from his hunt. He rode his horse through the gardens, stopping and dismounting near Cersei, his Kingsguard and brother Renly close behind. Cersei stood and turned, the courtiers falling silent in deference to the king as she stood proudly, head held high as she clutched her son to her bosom. Robert strode towards Cersei, his great gut wobbling and his red face set in a grimace. That was before he saw his son.

It was as if he had become a different man. Here was a son he could love, a son that looked just as he did when he was born, with the Baratheon hair and eyes and an inquisitive look on his face. _He is mine, __not __hers. Mine. I will teach him to fight, to hunt, to drink, to ride! Oh __thank the Seven__, I have a son, a perfect son! _Tears welled up in his eyes, but he brushed them away before they could be seen. For the first time, and indeed the last the court could remember, he looked at Cersei with something akin to kindness. Not affection, that would take a miracle, but gratitude for the woman who had borne him a son identical to him.

Robert thought for a minute, looking down at the baby's face, as he searched for a name befitting a prince.

"Orys. He shall be called Orys. After the founder of my house," Robert proclaimed, raising his head to address his retinue, "and may he grow to be even greater than I was. May he be a true Baratheon."

_**Hope you liked it, this is my first fan-fiction, so any criticism would be greatly appreciated!**_


	2. Prologue II

**Dp11: I think that Cersei would love Orys, but only because he is her son. I want to try and develop her feelings towards him as Orys grows older and begins to look like Robert.**

_Fifteen years later_

"Remember. These are real swords boy. Not toys." Ser Barristan Selmy said, pointing his sword at Orys.

Orys didn't reply, instead choosing to lunge at his tutor's head. The knight parried the clumsy thrust with ease, shaking his head and laughing at the poor attempt.

"What did I tell you? Think with your head, not your heart or you will lose your head."

Orys, now a headstrong and competent young man, did precisely what Ser Barristan had expected him to do. He thought with his heart, and charged.

Orys was by no means a poor fighter, in fact he was an excellent duellist, but he had without a shadow of a doubt inherited his father's legendary temper and after four hours of hard training and receiving a multitude of bruises, he stood little chance against the calm and collected mind of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Barristan simply stepped to the side sticking out his foot, as a surprised Orys ran straight past him, tripping over the outstretched limb and landing on his arse.

Orys' father, King Robert, stood up from where he had been watching, laughing as he did so.

"You should have listened my boy. He's the best swordsman in all of Westeros; you can't go wrong if you do what he says. You're much like me in that respect. You let your temper get the better of you and don't think." Robert's words were kind, but that didn't stop Orys from making an excuse.

"I'm tired and hungry. I could have beaten him if I wanted to."

"No you couldn't. You couldn't hit a dead cow if you tried. You're shit at fighting." The snide voice caused Robert to turn, turning his jovial mood instantly sour. Behind him stood his son Joffrey, his arrogant, moronic heir. Just his presence was enough to send Robert into a foul mood, which in turn sent Joffrey spiralling into a bad mood. Joffrey neither enjoyed his brother's company, nor sought to improve his relationship with him. This was because Orys had something which he did not; his father's love and approval.

"Shut your mouth you fool. Even now in the state he's in, Orys could beat you without breaking a sweat. Don't even try and pretend you can fight either, we all know you can barely swing a sword." These withering remarks were commonplace but to Joffrey, they still stung as much as they had the first time. Robert's contempt for his heir had only increased over the past few years as Orys became an exemplary prince, whilst Joffrey became arrogant, obtuse and materialistic.

Orys had been tutored in combat by Lord Commander Selmy, in the histories of Westeros and its Great Houses and mathematics by Grand Maester Pycelle, had become fluent in several languages including High Valyrian and had been taught to ride and joust by his uncle Ser Jaime Lannister; he had taken to knightly pursuits like a duck to water. He had grown tall and handsome, with high cheekbones, piercing sapphire-blue eyes and a mop of curly jet-black hair. He had developed a heavily muscled body through his rigorous training, had become an elegant and graceful dancer, and had resolved to be a member of his brother's Kingsguard. On top of that, he was anxiously awaiting to participate in his first tourney, which would begin on his fifteenth name-day and last for three days.

Joffrey was the polar opposite of his brother. Whilst he too had become handsome, he had neglected learning how to fight, claiming that the heir to the throne should not have to endanger himself. He was unable to do the simplest of calculations, had at best a passable knowledge of any Great House in Westeros bar his own, and had straight up refused to learn any language other than the Common Tongue. Joffrey preferred to preen himself next to his mother as she was attended by her courtiers, and took even less of an interest in learning to run the Kingdom than his father had. Most of all, however, Joffrey had become arrogant.

"No he couldn't Father. I'll fight him now if I must. I bet Orys is too scared though. He knows he'll lose." Joffrey said with a pretentious smirk.

Clearly, Joffrey had been expecting Orys to decline the challenge due to his weariness, and was taken aback at Orys' reaction.

"All right then. If you think you're so good let's see what you can do." Orys said, picking up his training sword and motioning to Ser Barristan to stand back.

Joffrey paled when he saw that he would have to fight Orys or risk showing his cowardice. Seeing no choice in the matter he drew his sword and cautiously walked into the middle of the circle of knights which had formed to watch the fight, a lump forming in his throat as he did so. Turning to his father with a final sliver of hope to see if Robert would stop them, he saw that the King had sat back down to enjoy the duel.

As Joffrey turned back to his brother, he had to duck instantly in order to avoid the wooden sword which had been thrust at his head. As Orys circled, his eyes watching Joffrey's every move, a smile crossed his face.

_This is too easy._

Without him noticing, Joffrey had been manoeuvred in front of a rock. Seizing his chance Orys sprinted forward, sword raised, making Joffrey scramble backwards in fear, tripping over the rock as he did so.

As Joffrey hit the ground his sword flew out of his hand, landing at Orys' feet. He kicked the sword aside, slowly walking towards his brother as he savoured the immanent victory. Resting his sword on the nape of Joffrey's neck, his eyes posed a question that did not need to be asked.

"Yield! I yield! Please brother, don't hurt me." Joffrey whimpered as he felt a warm feeling spread across his crotch, before raising his hands in another gesture of surrender.

Orys looked at his brother with pity. He loved Joffrey, but wanted him to be a good king; cowardice was not something any good king possessed.

"Get up you pansy. Fuck off back to your mother. I don't want to see you down here again." Robert said to Joffrey as he walked over to Orys to congratulate him.

As the king talked to his second son, Joffrey looked at the pair with a look of pure hatred on his face. Never before had he felt such contempt for his brother. He had been jealous of him, yes, but had never hated him. He was about to leave the training ground and return to his mother, when a young squire came running up to the King, a worried look on his face.

"Your Grace, the Hand has been taken ill. He has a fever and the Grand Maester says that he will not last much longer. Please Your Grace, the Hand has requested your attendance."

Normally, anyone who requested the King to attend something would lose his head, but Jon Arryn was practically Robert's father, having raised him alongside Eddard Stark and so Robert took off immediately.

Orys followed closely behind, turning to give his brother a look of apology as he walked away.

Joffrey shot back a look of pure hatred. Nothing his brother could do would ever endear him to Joffrey. Nothing in the world would stop Joffrey from hating his brother.

…

Robert knelt beside the bed upon which Jon Arryn lay, gently looking at his foster-father's face. He wished that Ned was there to comfort him, to share his grief for the man who had moulded them into the men they were today.

_If only Ned were here. We were like brothers once. I haven't seen him in ten years. I wonder if he's the same man. I know I'm not. The one thing that I want now, more than anything else is for Ned to be here. He's the only friend I have left, except for Orys._

As Robert sat reminiscing, Lord Varys the Master of Whispers, entered the room. He approached Robert carefully, cautious not to provoke the King's legendary anger.

"Your Grace." Varys said with a hint of nervousness.

"Huh? Oh, Varys. What do you want?" Robert replied, not bothering to disguise his dislike for the eunuch.

"To talk to you about the appointment of a new Hand." Varys said bluntly. "He'll need to be someone you can trust, someone you can rely on."

"And who would that person be? You I suppose?" Robert said gruffly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I need someone I can trust, a friend, not a man who would stab me in the back the moment I turned away."

If Varys was insulted, he betrayed no sign of it. Instead he asked the King a question.

"And which of your friends would that be, Your Grace?" Varys' honeyed words were natural to the Court, and Robert paid the fake sweetness little heed.

"I only have one friend. Eddard Stark. And he's in fucking Winterfell. He would never come down here unless-" Robert stopped, an idea forming in his head.

_Ned would do whatever I told him to. And he's someone I can trust. He knows how to rule. He is just. He is wise. Hmm, yes, he would be a perfect Hand. He'd rule better than I do, haha!_

"Your Grace? Your Grace did you hear me?" Varys asked Robert.

"What!" Robert shouted, angry from being disturbed from his thoughts.

"I asked Your Grace whether you were going to appoint Lord Eddard as your Hand, if you hold him in such high regard."

"Yes. Yes I will. Send a raven to Lord Stark informing him that the King is coming to Winterfell. Nothing more, nothing less. Understand?" Robert said, his booming voice reverberating around the room.

"Of course Your Grace."

With that, Varys strode out of the room, his garments flowing behind him.

Robert turned to Orys, who had been standing behind his father for the entirety of the exchange, a huge grin painted across his face.

"We're going to the North lad!"

**Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, although I felt as if it was quite clunky. Any criticism appreciated.**

**I won't be able to update for a while, as I have several important exams coming up. Hopefully should be able to post an update relatively soon though.**


	3. Orys I

**Radji: Thanks for the compliment! I'm debating whether or not to make Orys Joffrey's Hand (he is young and inexperienced after all), as for his spouse I am aiming to make it Sansa, but not straight away.**

**Kaioo: Thanks! I'm trying to think of a way that I can change that whilst keeping the War of the Five Kings (but changing events in that as well).**

**EvenIDonNotKnowWhoIAm: I'm not sure yet, sorry.**

**Dp11: As a person, Orys doesn't like Joffrey, but he loves him because he is his brother. I know that I didn't make it very clear, but I hope to try and make that more obvious.**

Orys gasped for air as he rose up from the waters of the brook. The icy cold waters had stolen his breath as he bathed in the small river; a delightfully refreshing change from the saddle of his horse which he had been sitting in for the entire day. Orys heaved himself onto the bank, lying down on the springy moss as rivulets of water ran down his body and onto his linen pan, sparkling in the light. His breath turned to mist in the crisp morning air, as he looked up at the clear blue sky the sunlight warming his body, as he thought ahead to the Royal Party's arrival at Winterfell.

_I wonder what Winterfell will be like. So far, the North seems a much better place than King's Landing. More beautiful. More simple. Just...more...in every single way. I cannot wait to see Lord Eddard. I will finally be able to see Father's greatest and dearest friend, the head of House Stark. The eldest Stark sons are apparently becoming great warriors; I will have to see it to believe it. I doubt any of them could best me in fight. Well, I'll see when we finally-_

Orys was shaken from his thoughts when a shadow fell upon him. Being deep in thought he had not noticed the man approaching him until he was standing above him. Orys scrambled up, thinking the man to be a danger, but stopped and laughed when he saw who it was.

"Uncle Tyrion. You gave me quite a fright!" Orys said with a laugh.

"Well you should be afraid of me. After all, I am a most fearsome warrior." Tyrion replied wryly.

"I had not forgotten Uncle." Orys said with a grin. "But what brings you out here? Why are you not with the rest of the Royal Party?" he said as he moved to pull on the rest of his clothes.

"Your infernal brother is driving me insane. Utter moron that boy." Tyrion muttered, a frown spreading across his face. "Sitting in that bloody wheelhouse with my _beloved_ sister, prattling on about how he let you win that duel you had. I swear to the Gods he becomes more conceited by the day. Not to mention his treatment of Tommen. Did you know that he woke him this morning by pouring a bucket of water over his head? What kind of a prince does that to his own brother?!"

Orys shook his head grimly. Joffrey's behaviour towards the rest of his family had taken a rapid turn for the worse since his defeat at Orys' hands. Since then Orys had saved Tommen and Myrcella from Joffrey's malicious outbursts on several occasions, the most recent of which had almost ended with Tommen burning his hand off as Joffrey watched laughing.

Whilst Joffrey had been callous for many years now, his sadistic tendencies had emerged as he became a man, disgusting Orys to the point when he no longer loved his brother blindly, no longer following his brother's every command.

_I cannot believe what he has grown to be. I used to love him so, but now I do not even recognise the monster he has become. What he did to Tommen is just another thing to add to the rapidly growing list of reasons for why Joffrey is an absolute shit-head._

"Well, at least that is not as bad as the time with the cat. Next time I will stop him from hurting Tommen. Or Myrcella for that matter. They are too innocent for him to corrupt." Orys said.

"Oh Gods the cat. I am truly glad that I did not see him do it. I am quite sure I would have been sick." Tyrion replied, gagging at the memory of the story.

Two years ago, Joffrey had cut open the belly of a pregnant cat and pulled out the unborn kittens. He had brought them to his father, a beaming grin on his face, as if the act was impressive. Robert had shouted at him, striking his son in the face and beating him until he begged for mercy. Although Orys now thought that Joffrey had deserved it, at the time, he had been horrified at his father's treatment of his brother.

Rousing himself from the memories, Orys finished dressing and motioned to Tyrion to follow him. As they made their way back through the trees towards the camp, birdsong reverberated around the glade.

"Nephew, I was wondering whether you would care to play another game of cyvasse with me at some point. Sitting with my sister and your brother bores me beyond belief and I do think playing you would be most entertaining." Tyrion asked.

"Of course Uncle. But only if you go easy on me. You know how bad I am." Orys replied with a grin.

"Nonsense, you're getting better every game we play. I wouldn't be surprised if you were beating me by the time we get to Winterfell."

"Maybe." Orys said with a laugh. "Tonight then?"

"Yes, tonight. When we stop for the evening I will send for you." Tyrion said.

"Very well. I look forward to it." Orys replied, a smile on his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me I must see my father."

"Of course my Prince, you need not ask." Tyrion said as he bowed, before turning and walking back to the wheelhouse.

Orys walked the short distance to his father's tent, nodding at Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Barristan Selmy who stood guard outside, before walking in.

"Orys my boy! Come join me." Robert said when he heard his son enter. He motioned to a chair and poured a cup of wine, pushing it towards Orys.

He took it, inhaling the sweet scent before taking a sip.

"This is good wine father. Dornish?" Orys asked.

"Yes, of course. It seems as if you become more like me every day. First you become a warrior, now it turns out you like wine almost as much as I do!" Robert said with a laugh.

Orys chuckled, a gentle smile on his face as he averted his eyes in embarrassment from his father's obvious pride. He reached out to the food on the table, loading his plate with bacon and fresh bread. He began to eat as his father talked to him.

"Ser Barristan says that we will arrive at Winterfell in two days at this rate. Less if we didn't have that blasted wheelhouse. No matter. We must look good when we get there. I do not want Ned to think badly of me and I will not have your fool of a brother make me look like an idiot. Do you understand? You are to ride next to him when present ourselves. I still intend to join our Houses and you must both look the part." Robert said gruffly.

"Of course father. I will tell Joffrey when I-" Orys began, stopping as someone entered the tent.

That someone turned out to be Joffrey, followed as usual by his Sworn Shield the Hound. Robert acknowledged his eldest son before taking a draught of his wine.

"Good morning Father. I trust you slept well." Joffrey said without even so much as glancing at Orys.

"As well as can be expected." Robert grunted. "Enough pleasantries. When we arrive at Winterfell, Orys will ride beside you. And I do not want you to do anything to make a bad impression upon Ned."

"But Father, I am the Crown Prince! I cannot be expected to ride beside my brother. That would look absurd." Joffrey replied with a sneer.

"Enough!" Robert shouted, the wine already affecting his mind. "You will ride beside him and that is that! If you question me again I will have you beaten, despite anything your poxy mother might say about it!"

Joffrey was clearly taken aback by his father's outburst and nodded curtly before turning and walking out, his golden cloak swishing behind him. Orys nodded to the Hound as he left before turning to his father.

"If you will excuse me father, I must prepare for the day's ride."

"Of course. I trust you will ride with me today?" Robert asked.

"Certainly father. I would also gladly dine with you this evening should you wish me to?"

"Yes I would like that. I will send for you when we stop for the night."

With that, Orys was dismissed and made his way to his tent. Having reached it, he promptly dressed himself in a white linen shirt, his tabard and brown leather breeches, before lacing up his riding boots. After that he donned a golden cloak, lined with velvety moleskin. The cape, combined with the Baratheon sigil on his tabard, made him look resplendent, the colours of his finely made clothes complimenting the colour of his hair and eyes. Stepping outside, Orys signalled to his serving boy, beckoning him over.

"My lord?" the young boy asked.

"Bring me my horse. I want him saddled and ready for me to ride."

"At once my Lord." the boy said, bowing quickly before running to where the horses had been tethered overnight.

Orys stood impatiently, pulling on his doe-skin riding gloves as he tapped his foot.

The boy returned soon, leading on Orys' horse. At sixteen and a half hands tall, the stallion towered over the young boy. As the horse walked behind the boy, his black mane bouncing up and down as he swished his tail back and forth, his head bowed to the low height at which the servant held the halters, Orys could not help but giggle at the sight of the majestic warhorse being led by a little boy as if it was a pony.

Orys took the reins from the boy, thanking him before turning his attention to the horse.

"You look excellent this morning Fury. I don't suppose you would like to have a good ride today?" Orys asked his horse, despite knowing that he couldn't talk.

Fury whinnied in reply, his nostrils flaring, making Orys laugh.

Patting Fury's neck, Orys grabbed the bridle and swung himself up into the saddle in one graceful movement. Sitting atop the horse, he nudged Fury's flank with his heel, setting the horse off on a trot. He began to make his way to the front of the column which had now formed, the Queen's wheelhouse being one of the first to set off due to its slow speed. Once he had reached the front he positioned himself by his father as they rode.

For four hours they rode together, discussing swordplay and jousting, in particular the tournament which was to be held on their return to King's Landing in honour of Orys' fifteenth name-day. After a while, however, Orys began to feel uncomfortable, wishing that he was able to ride as fast as he wanted to and not be held up by his mother's wheelhouse. In an attempt to escape from the monotony, Orys asked his father a question.

"Father, would you care for a race?" he asked, a small grin playing at the edge of his mouth.

"A race? To where?" Robert asked in surprise.

The chance to do something interesting had roused Robert from his state of boredom and he now appeared to be very much awake.

"To the top of that hill over there. You have always said that you were the better rider. Why not see if you were telling the truth?" Orys said with a cheeky smile.

"You little bugger. You think you can beat me? I'll show you! Ser Barristan, Ser Arys, my son and I will go ahead. Follow behind but keep your distance." Robert said, turning to his guards as he did so.

The two knights of the Kingsguard nodded, the younger of them, Ser Arys, grinning in anticipation.

"Ready? Go!" Robert shouted, spurring his horse on.

Orys quickly followed suit, taken by surprise by his father's quick start but urging Fury to ride as fast as he could. The both of them clearly relished the challenge, Orys and Fury quickly catching up with Robert and soon overtaking him.

Orys whooped in exhilaration as he reached the top of the hill, but quietened almost immediately in astonishment, his eyes widening at the sight of what lay before him. Robert too fell silent when he saw what his son was staring at, his eyes softening with memories, the hints of tears shining in his eyes.

Before them stretched miles of rolling hills, green woods and gentle rivers. In the distance though, lay the thing which had enraptured Orys. The great towers of Winterfell rose towards the sky like great stone trees, as the banners of House Stark fluttered in the wind sending shivers down Orys' spine. He could only stare in amazement at the wondrous sight before him, wishing fervently that he could be riding through the gates of the great castle at that very moment.

"Winterfell." Orys said softly.

"Aye. Winterfell."

**Next Chapter: The Royal Party arrives at Winterfell...**

Hi guys! Sorry for the long wait, I hadn't forgotten about this I just had a very busy few weeks. I hope this makes up for it. Next update should be as soon as I can get it out.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for all the support so far!


	4. Orys II

The Royal Party poured through the gates of Winterfell like a rushing river, a swirling motley of red and gold, with banners standing out above the heads of the riders. First came Robert, dressed in his finest gold and black silks top his warhorse, his antlered crown upon his head. He was followed by Sers Selmy and Oakheart, looking resplendent in their snow-white Kingsguard armour. Then came the princes, Joffrey and Orys. The two could not have looked any more different; Joffrey wore beautiful red and gold silks, the colours of their mother's House, whilst Orys wore his plain, albeit finely made, riding leathers. Behind them rode Joffrey's Sworn Shield, the Hound, who apparently shared Joffrey's disdain for Winterfell. Orys on the other hand, could scarcely keep himself from staring at the huge grey walls and at the banners of the great House Stark which hung from every spire, his mouth hanging open in amazement.

Once the King had stopped in the centre of the courtyard the Queen strode through the gates, having left her gargantuan wheelhouse behind, Tommen and Myrcella following closely behind her. Robert dismounted with the help of two servants, and turned to Lord Stark.

Orys looked at Lord Eddard, seeing him for the first time, and saw that he was about as old as his father was. He looked just as his father had described; he had a long and solemn face, with shoulder-length brown hair and was clean-shaven. He wore a long grey cloak in the colours of his House and had a longsword sheathed at his hip.

As Robert approached, he and his family knelt along with the other members of his household. Robert stopped in front of him and motioned with his hand. Eddard rose, his family following suit. Robert looked his old friend over with a critical eye, before opening his mouth to talk.

"You've got fat." Robert said gruffly.

Eddard did not reply, instead looking pointedly at Robert's stomach and then back to his King's face. The corners of his mouth twitched, hinting at a smile.

Robert stood silently for a few seconds, causing Eddard's smile to disappear, replaced by a look of worry. Then Robert threw back his head and roared with laughter. He pulled Eddard into a crushing embrace, squeezing the air out of Ned's lungs with the remnants of his once great strength.

"By the Gods it is good to see you Ned! It has been too long since I saw your frozen face!" Robert said.

"Winterfell is yours, Your Grace." Ned said, as he massaged his ribs.

"Aye, it looks that way!" Robert replied. He caught sight Catelyn, Ned's wife.

"Cat! How are you?" Robert asked.

"I am well Your Grace." Catelyn replied, lowering her eyes respectfully.

"Good, good!" Robert said.

Orys looked at the rest of Lord Stark's family. He saw Ned's wife, a beautiful woman by all accounts, standing regally by her husband's side and then saw their eldest son Robb. He was tall and strong, Orys thought, well-built too. "_He might stand a chance against me after all."_ Robb looked up at Orys when he felt his gaze. He nodded curtly with a smile and turned to Robert who greeted him.

Orys looked just a little further along the line of Starks, his eyes coming to rest upon the eldest daughter.

His breath caught in his throat, and he felt as if his heart had stopped. His eyes widened in astonishment as he stared, open-mouthed, at her beauty. Her long, flowing auburn hair shone in the midday sun like tamed fire as her brilliant blue eyes lit up at the sight of the Royal Family. She wore a long blue dress which matched her eyes perfectly. She was looking in his direction with obvious admiration, fidgeting with her hands as she stood tall and proud. It was only when Joffrey smirked and she looked down in embarrassment, that Orys realised she had not even seen him; she had been staring at Joffrey.

Orys was stirred from his thoughts when his father came back to Lord Stark.

"Take me to your crypts Ned. I want to pay my respects." the King said.

Lord Stark nodded and made to lead Robert away, when Cersei spoke.

"My love, we have been travelling for a long time. Surely the dead can wait?" she said, although without even the slightest hint of love for her husband.

Robert gave her a dirty look and walked away, following Lord Stark. Once they had gone the other Stark daughter, a scrawny, dirty little girl who paled in comparison to her sister, hissed a question to her brother.

"Where is the Imp?" she said, eliciting an elbow in the ribs from her sister.

Hearing this, Cersei turned to her twin brother the Kingslayer, a man that Orys admired for his skill with a sword, but despised for his actions in Robert's Rebellion.

"Where is our beastly brother? Go and find him." she said to him. With Jaime striding away, she walked over to her sons, waiting for them to escort her to meet the Stark family.

Orys and Joffrey dismounted and walked with their mother to the waiting line. By now, most of the other retainers of the King and of the Starks had been dismissed, leaving the two families to greet each other in relative peace.

Cersei proffered her hand to the eldest son Robb, allowing him to kiss it; despite the formal ritual, she barely looked his way, her words were honeyed and false and she treated the rest of the Starks with just as much disdain. She turned her nose up at the sight of the youngest girl, Arya, and sneered when she heard the aspirations of the second son Bran. She did, however, compliment the eldest daughter, Sansa, which surprised Orys; given his mother's usually prickly and arrogant demeanour to anyone outside her family, a compliment to a young girl, especially a Stark, was unexpected.

Cersei motioned for her sons to do the same, but instead Joffrey looked down at them haughtily; despite his arrogance and obvious dislike for their family, the eldest daughter, Sansa, blushed

It fell, therefore, to Orys to salvage their family's relationship with the Starks.

Orys extended his hand to Robb in friendship. He took it, clasping the Prince's hand in his own and shaking it.

"It is an honour to meet you Prince Orys. My father has told me of your prowess with a sword." Robb said.

"Please, the honour is all mine. Call me Orys. And as for being a good swordsman? We will have to find out later." Orys replied with a grin.

"Yes we will. If you so wish, you are more than welcome to call me Robb." Robb grinned back, before turning to a boy standing behind him and pulling him forward.

"Prince Orys, this is my half-brother Jon. Jon, this is Prince Orys."

"Your Highness." Jon said quietly.

"Jon. Are you a good swordsman?" Orys asked.

"He is the best swordsman in Westeros! And he could beat you any day he wanted to!" a voice shouted. Turning to find out where it had come from, Orys saw that it was the youngest Stark girl that had spoken. Robb looked shocked, Jon looked embarrassed and Sansa looked mortified.

"Arya, you cannot talk to the Prince like that! You are a lady, behave like one!" Sansa scolded.

"I agree. It is most improper." Cersei said disdainfully.

"It is quite all right my lady." Orys said gently, ignoring his mother. Sansa looked taken aback, as if she was thinking him to be mad that he would allow such a breach of decorum. "And young Lady Stark. Do you really think that your brother could beat me in a fight?"

"Yes!" Arya said defiantly.

Orys chuckled, turning to face Jon as he did so. Jon was fidgeting anxiously as the gaze of the Queen and the rest of the Stark children turned upon him.

"It would seem that your sister thinks you could beat me. Do you?" Orys asked Jon.

"I..I..I do not know Your Highness." Jon replied nervously.

"Well then we will have to fight each other later and find out which of us is better. Robb as well. And you too may call me Orys." Orys said.

"If you wish, Your Highness." Robb replied.

Orys turned to talk to the other children, but they had already began to walk away. Seeing his family leaving as well, he turned back to Robb.

"Robb, Jon. Do you think that you could show me around Winterfell? I have never been before and it seems to me that Winterfell is far more interesting than King's Landing." Orys asked.

"Of course Orys. If you would follow me."

…

It was almost dark by the time that Robb and Jon had taken Orys around Winterfell. They had shown him the First Keep, the oldest part of Winterfell, and the Broken Tower, abandoned for centuries. They had taken him to the Glass Garden, where it was so hot that Orys had begun to sweat. Then finally, they had taken Orys to the Godswood. Although Orys kept the Faith of the Seven like his father and his father's father, there had been something so majestic and awe-inspiring about the peace and beauty of the Godswood that Orys had been unable to say a word.

As Orys sat in his bath, washing off the dirt and grime that came with travelling, he still could not stop thinking about the beauty of the Godswood. It was simple and natural, unlike the extravagance and pageantry in Baelor's Sept. The Godswood held the same beauty that Sansa Stark did. The same Northern beauty that was everywhere around him.

"_But Sansa is not plain at all, is she. Gods she is beautiful. __She is perfect. __She is everything I have always dreamed of. She is the damsel in distress to my knight in shining armour. __She is-"_

There was a knock on the door. Then another. Then another.

"Who is it?" Orys called out.

"Your mother, Orys. May I come in?" Cersei replied.

"Wait a minute." Orys grunted as he lifted himself out of the bath. He grabbed a towel, covering himself. "Very well." he said, as his mother swung the door open.

Cersei swept through the doorway, her robes billowing behind her. She took a seat on the edge of Orys' bed before looking at her son.

"The feast begins in a few hours. You must look magnificent." Cersei said, as she stood and walked towards Orys. "My son...my prince...must look magnificent." Cersei began, "I...I...Be ready for the feast. It would not look good for you to be late." she finished, tears forming in her eyes. She turned, her dress swishing around her feet and strode out.

Orys stood there for a moment, thinking on what his mother had said. Orys said, shaking his head in resignation. His mother had always acted oddly towards him, and so he tried to put it out of his mind. To help himself do so, Orys went to dress himself for the feast. Usually, Orys preferred to dress plainly and practically, but he had inherited a love for fine clothes from his Uncle Renly. His father had often mocked him for that and called him the 'Little Lord Renly'. He took it in good humour, however, and wore his clothes proudly. And so, as his mother had _commanded _him to be magnificent, Orys pulled out his finest clothes and proceeded to put them on.

First, Orys put on a silk under-shirt. Then he put on a black, velvet doublet edged with gold lace and a stag emblazoned on the chest. Then he pulled on a pair of black trousers, made from the finest Myrish cloth and then a pair of white silk socks. Finally he pulled on a pair of knee-high leather boots and swung on his cape. Orys stood and walked over to the mirror, admiring his reflection. He heard a knock on his door and rolled his eyes.

"Enter." Orys said, turning to look at his reflection one more time. In the mirror, Orys saw the person enter the room; it was Robb.

"Orys, it's time." Robb said. "Our parents expect us to lead the other children in. It appears that you must lead my sister Arya in." he said with a grin.

"Oh Gods. Very well." Orys replied. "Let us go then."

They both walked out of Orys' chambers and walked down the flight of stairs to the bottom of the tower, sharing jokes about their families. When they reached the bottom, they walked along a covered walkway until they reached the doors to the Great Hall. Waiting there were the other members of their families, talking quietly among themselves, with the exception of Cersei and Joffrey, who stood to the side ignoring everyone else.

Orys saw his sister Myrcella blush when she saw Robb, making Orys smile; his sister clearly had a crush on Robb Stark. Then Orys saw Tommen, watching Arya Stark in awe as he stood next to her. And then, Orys saw Sansa. Once again, his breath caught in his chest at the sight of her beauty. A lump formed in his throat, and he began to feel very hot. But again, she did not see him, and stood watching Joffrey with reverence. For the first time in his life, Orys felt a sudden surge of pure hatred for Joffrey.

"_Why does she stare at him so? He is worthless, he is stupid, he is craven! WHY!? He does not deserve her affections! He does not deserve **her**!"_ Orys was jolted from his thoughts when Robb placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right my friend? You seem distracted." Robb said.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a little weary from the journey. That's all." Orys replied.

"Well, once we are inside there is enough ale for you to drink yourself to sleep with!" Robb said enthusiastically.

They walked up to their families, Orys to his father and Robb to his mother. It was then that Lord Stark walked through the doors, motioning to Robert. Robert took Catelyn's arm and led her through the two great doors to the Great Hall. Then Lord Stark took Cersei's arm and led her through the door, followed by Joffrey with Sansa, Robb with Myrcella and Orys with Arya. Bran, Tommen and Rickon followed behind, trying to look as dignified as possible. Orys could not stop looking at Sansa and Joffrey, and the disdain that Joffrey clearly held for Sansa. But she did not see it. She saw only a handsome prince, her fairytale prince.

"_If only she knew what he is like." _Orys thought.

All the people in the Great Hall stood when the King entered, and all fell silent. That is until he reached the High Table and raised a cup to shout a toast.

"May we eat and drink until we fall over!" he shouted. The people standing in the Hall raised their own glasses and echoed the toast, the sounds of revelry and merriment breaking out once again.

Orys sat himself next to Robb on the table below the King as the servants began to bring in the food. There were dishes of boar, pork, beef, chicken, pheasant, fowl and all manner of birds and animals, and there were great trenchers of bread to eat the food from. There were many elaborate wine cups filled with many expensive and delicious wines. There were red and gold wines from the Arbor and sour wines from Dorne and there were even wines from the Free Cities. There were minstrels playing music and bards singing songs of the King's conquests, of both women and of war. There was dancing and there was laughing. Everyone was partaking in the feast, even Cersei with her cold stare. All but one; Orys sat in his chair, watching Joffrey talk to Sansa and tell her great tales of his _magnificent_ deeds_. _He could hear the lies from where he was sitting.

"I killed a boar with a singles thrust of my spear." Joffrey boasted, causing Sansa to blush with admiration.

"_A lie," _Orys thought, "_it was me that killed the boar, Father saw me do it! And now he takes credit for it__!?__"_

"I knocked my uncle Jaime off his horse in a joust. He is one of the finest knights in the world. It was a practice though so no one saw me do it." Joffrey said, again lying.

"_It was me that did that you little shit! You've never jousted in your life you poncey, wimpy prick! You said it was too dangerous, you said that you would get hurt!" _Orys thought to himself, the rage inside him building slowly.

Orys tried to take his mind of his brother's lies by eating and drinking with Robb. They shared a few jokes and talked about swordplay, settling that they would practice tomorrow in the courtyard. Yet still, Orys could not stop thinking about the lies Joffrey was telling and the way in which Sansa seemed to worship Joffrey. The final straw for Orys came when Joffrey spoke of their father.

"My father says that I am his favourite son, that I am the worthiest of his children to bear the Baratheon name. He says that I will be the best king that ever was and ever will be." Joffrey sneered.

When Orys heard this lie he jumped up, pushing his chair backwards and making everyone fall silent and stare at him. He shot his brother a look of pure hatred and turned to his father.

"If you will excuse me father. I am tired from our journey and would like to rest." he said flatly.

"Of course. I will speak to you in the morning." Robert said with surprise. The exchange echoed around the cavernous hall. Robert turned back to the people who had fallen silent, calling for them to continue.

As Orys stormed out of the Great hall, his body burning with the desire to punch his brother in his snotty little face, the people once again carried on with their drinking and their eating. He walked up the stairs to his chambers, pushing open the door and slamming it shut behind him. He walked over to his bed, tearing off his clothes as he did so, and sunk onto his soft mattress. He laid his head upon his goose-feather pillow and pulled his eiderdown duvet up to his neck. He closed his eyes, thinking about Sansa's perfect face and the way she smiled, as he sunk into the dark oblivion of sleep.

**Hi guys! I am so sorry for the long wait since the last update, but I have had a lot of exams and haven't had a lot of time to write. I hope that this longer chapter makes up for it. I plan to make future chapters about the same length, so it may take me a bit longer to get chapters out. I finish my exams next week, so after then I will be able to write as much as I want!**

**If you find any spelling mistakes, or massive errors like me calling Orys the heir instead of Joffrey, etc, please comment and tell me so that I can fix it.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	5. Orys III

**Dark G0ddess: Orys is a virgin and wants to stay that way until his marriage; he got his sense of honour from Stannis and Eddard (by modelling himself on them); I don't yet know whether that will change though.**

**Gravio: Thanks! I know it was, but love works in mysterious ways (apparently :D).**

**Dark Lord Of Ori: Thank you so much, it means so much to me! I was already planning to have Bran in this chapter, and for him to look up to Orys, but I know that I could have added him in a bit more. I hope this chapter satisfies that!**

**Elle: I think it would be unrealistic if Orys was gracious and accepting of the fact that Sansa is attracted to Joffrey over him; he is a prince who has been given everything he wanted since birth and he has had a little too much to drink, coupled with the fact that Orys is experiencing what may be love, _and_ given his intense dislike/hatred for Joffrey, it would not make sense (at least to me) if Orys didn't whine at least a little bit.**

**Wolvenstrom: Thanks!**

**I am so, so, so sorry that I took so long to update, please forgive me. I hope this longer chapter makes up for it. I have been very busy recently but I'm free for the rest of the summer now so I can finally start getting the chapters out for you guys!**

**Thanks for all the comments guys, it means a lot to me, and I can't believe that I already have so many favourites and follows, its incredible! **

**Again, if you see any errors or spelling mistakes, just leave a comment and I'll fix it.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

It was almost midday when Orys awoke, with the sun streaming in through the windows, landing directly on his face, as the birds outside chirped loudly from their perches on the tower. He groaned and rolled over on his side, covering his eyes; as he did so, he clutched at his head, feeling for all the world as if there was someone inside it trying to break out of his skull with a hammer, and let out an even bigger groan. Sitting up slowly, the sound of steel hitting steel began to reach his ears. Naturally this did not help to alleviate his already pounding headache, and put Orys in an even worse mood.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Orys stood up shakily, to dress himself so that he might go and find some water to quench his raging thirst, and some food so that he might sate his hunger.

Having pulled on the clothes that lay strewn across the floor, he made his way down the stairs, stopping briefly to acknowledge the young Bran Stark who came running up the stairs and barrelled straight into the young Prince.

"Good morning, little Lord." Orys groaned, still reeling from the impact.

"Morning!" Bran replied cheerily, before pushing past Orys to continue his ascent of the tower, his direwolf following close behind.

Despite his headache, Orys managed to chuckle and shake his head at the boy's antics, before immediately regretting doing so as a sharp wave of pain passed across his eyes, causing him to hiss in pain. Once Orys could think clearly again, he continued walking down the stairs and, once he reached the bottom, walked through the doors of a small hall that had been set aside for the visiting guests. At the other end of the room was a table, at which sat his mother, Tommen, Myrcella and his Uncle Jaime, who were breaking their fast.

"Good morning Orys. I trust you slept well?" Cersei asked, as Orys approached the table.

"Well enough." Orys grunted, taking a seat next to Tommen. "Though not as well as you did brother!" he said with a small laugh when he saw Tommen's beaming little face.

"I thlept vewy well! My bed ith vewy comfortable!" Tommen lisped in reply as he shovelled hot porridge into his mouth.

"_A bit too hot judging by his reaction." _Orys thought as Tommen spat it back out, wiping his tongue in pain.

Orys turned to the food in front of him, gingerly reaching for some bacon and bread, before chewing it slowly and carefully. As Orys was finishing his mouthful, someone else entered the room; Tyrion Lannister walked the distance of the room, cheerfully whistling a tune as he went, before he saw Orys' pained expression and breaking into peals of laughter.

"A little too much to drink last night perhaps? Are you only now feeling the after-effects of the joys of hedonism?" Tyrion asked with a grin stretching from one side of his face to the other.

"It's not funny." Orys grumbled.

"Oh but it is, dear nephew, it is!" Tyrion replied with a laugh.

"I am glad that you find my son's distress amusing, brother." Cersei said tersely. Until now she had fully ignored her other brother's presence.

"Am I not allowed to find my nephew's trouble with wine amusing? I am after all an expert in such matters." he replied, his happy expression turning sour for a brief second.

"Then help him." was Cersei's answer, before she turned back to her meal.

"Very well." Tyrion said, turning to a servant who had been standing quietly by the table. "Bring some wine. And a cup." he said, alarming Orys at the mention of wine.

"More?!" Orys choked out. "I don't need any more!"

"On the contrary dear nephew, this will help your headache not worsen it." Tyrion replied. "Ah, many thanks." he said as the servant returned, giving the goblet to Orys. "Here, drink it. I promise you that it will help with the pain." he said when he saw Orys' doubtful expression.

Orys capitulated, sniffing tentatively at the wine before throwing his head back and draining the goblet in one draught.

"_Gods this is vile. How can men do this every day?!" _Orys thought, a grimace stretched across his face.

Tyrion grinned at the reaction, shaking his head in disbelief. "You need more practice at drinking my friend! Maybe next time you won't do so badly!" he said with a laugh. Tommen and Myrcella both giggled at their brother's misfortune, but were silenced by a scathing look from their mother.

"I trust that you have the good sense not to drink to excess again Orys. It is unbecoming for a prince to belittle himself before lesser men." Cersei said, fixing her son with a cold stare.

Orys sat in silence for a few seconds, contemplating his mother's words, before rising from his seat.

"I must go and prepare myself for sparring with Lord Eddard's sons. I am late enough as it is. You should go as well Tommen; Father wanted you to train." Orys said. "Uncle Jaime, I hope that you will be there? I may need someone that can hold their own in a fight against me."

Jaime turned lazily, nodding his in the affirmative.

"Good. I will see you all later today I assume. Enjoy the rest of your meal." Orys said, as he began walking towards his chambers.

…

Half an hour later, after a hot and invigorating bath, Orys walked into the training yard clad in his sparring armour. His sparring armour consisted of finely made brown leather padding with a shirt of chain mail, made from the finest steel, and a black leather belt that kept the armour tight against his body to allow unrestricted movement. He walked over to where a small group of people stood watching two young boys spar and pushed through the throng so that he could see them better. They wore so much padding that they looked like two fat dumplings swatting at each other with wooden sticks that had no right to be called swords. Turning his attention from the two boys, he spied the two eldest Stark sons, Robb and Jon, and walked over to them.

"Orys." Robb said, acknowledging the Prince's presence.

"Robb. Jon. Who are the two boys?" Orys asked, as he leaned against the wall.

"Bran and Tommen." Jon replied.

"Really?!" Orys exclaimed, staring in disbelief at the two young boys. "Why do they have so much padding on?" he said.

"Our Master-at-Arms said that it was so they could not injure each other. Pointless if you ask me. They couldn't hurt each other if they tried." Robb said, smirking as he did so.

As he spoke, the Master-at-Arms commanded the two young boys to stop fighting. They did so, and both of them ripped their helmets off, panting heavily as they tried to cool themselves down. They shook each other's hand and walked away, Bran to his brothers and Tommen to his. The three older boys laughed at the sight, before Orys turned to them.

"So. We've seen our brothers fight. Now why don't we see how we fight?" Orys asked.

"Yes Robb, please! Please, I want to see you fight!" Bran said excitedly.

Orys smiled at Robb. "What do you say? We'll use live steel. Your brother seems to think it would be good fun! What do you say, you and Jon against me?"

"Why not." Robb said with a glance at Jon. "We'll teach you how proper men fight." he said with a grin, drawing his sword as he did so.

"I cannot fight you." Jon said. "I am a bastard. Only those of noble blood may spar with royalty."

"You think that in a battle it would matter if you were of noble blood or not? You think that a bastard would not kill me in a fight because he was not of noble birth? You think that I even care?" Orys asked with a raised eyebrow. "No. You will fight. And if you will still insist that you cannot, then I am ordering you to fight me. As your Prince I am ordering you to fight me."

"Jon, if the Prince here has a death wish...we must oblige him." Robb said with a smile.

"Very well." Jon said as he drew his sword.

"Jory, clear a space." Robb said to the Master-at-Arms.

"Do it" he said to the men standing around. They dutifully obeyed, excited to see the two scions of two Great Houses clash together. "Robb are you sure that using live steel is a good idea?" the old man replied.

"I'll be fine." Robb said as he hefted his shield up.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that my friend." Orys joked, as he too lifted up his shield.

Robb didn't reply, charging forward with a guttural war-cry. Orys smiled, waiting for the right moment, and then turned and stepped out of Robb's path. Robb charged on in surprise, not expecting such a simple response. He stopped, turning, and ran back at Orys. This time, Orys stood his ground, raising his sword up to head-height and parrying the strike.

What happened next, happened so fast that Bran, Jon and all the other men watching could barely realise what was happening before it had happened. Orys struck at Robb with such speed, that Robb was still recovering from the first blow. Orys struck Robb in his midriff, before bringing his sword up and striking him on his sword-arm, forcing Robb to drop his blade. Then he smashed Robb in the face with his shield, and brought the pommel of his sword down on Robb's shoulder.

Robb fell to the floor with a heavy thud, clutching at his nose in an attempt to stop the flow of blood that was streaming from it like a red river.

Orys turned to face Jon, who did not appear to be as hot-headed as his half-brother. The two warriors circled each other, waiting for the ideal moment to strike. Then suddenly Jon rushed forward, raising his sword to strike. Orys raised his shield to take the blow, and swung his sword when he heard the familiar clang of steel hitting steel. The sword connected with Jon's leather padding causing Jon to cry out in pain, knocking the wind out of him, and giving Orys time to recover. Orys stood quickly, placing the tip of his sword to Jon's neck.

"Yield?" he asked.

Jon looked at him wearily. "I yield." he acquiesced.

He was breathing heavily as he stood, wincing in pain as he put pressure on his arm. "You fight like a demon possessed." he panted.

"I try." Orys replied with a grin. He too was panting hard.

"Gods...I think that in the future...I will not be so quick to attack." Robb grunted as he pushed himself up off the floor, still holding his nose.

"I think that would be a good idea. Don't you?" Orys said with a laugh.

The three boys looked at each other and started laughing, as Bran came running up to them.

"Can you teach me to fight like that?" Bran pleaded.

"Aye. When we get to King's Landing." Orys replied, tousling the young boy's hair. At that, Bran's face lit up with joy and he went running off towards the First Tower.

"Well. I think I need a rest after that. That should do for the day." Orys said, as he turned to the other two boys. The other men who had been watching had begun to walk away by now.

"So soon brother? Well, you always were pathetic." a high-pitched voice said from behind him. Orys whirled around and saw Joffrey standing there, surrounded by Lannister guards.

"Pathetic!? That's a bit rich coming from you brother. If I am so weak why don't we fight? I know why. Because the last time we did, you ended up on your soft little arse. And if you want more confirmation that I am a better warrior than you, then look no further. These two young men here couldn't defeat me, and they are twice the fighters you could ever hope to be!" Orys spat with venom in his voice, as he moved closer and closer to his brother.

"You'll regret this brother. One day, you will regret this." Joffrey said in a whisper, low enough so that only Orys could hear.

"Bring. It. On." Orys said through gritted teeth.

Joffrey gulped, turning red in the face. Looking around him at the hostile looks he was receiving from the Northmen standing in the courtyard, he turned tail and fled. Orys turned around, anger etched on his face.

"Are you all right my friend?" Robb asked.

"No. I'll see you tomorrow at the hunt." Orys said, storming off to his chambers, barely capable of keeping his anger in check.

As he walked away, the two Stark brothers shared a worried look, confused at the hatred between the two brothers, before going about their business.

…

The next morning dawned bright and early, with a strong chill in the air. Orys walked down the stairs from his chambers and into the courtyard, which was already alive with the servants rushing to prepare their masters and their masters' retainers for the King's hunt.

He walked over to where his horse had been saddled, nodding to the groom who had been standing by it, before taking the reins himself.

"Good morning Fury. Did you sleep well?" he asked. The huge horse whinnied in reply. Orys smiled as he stroked his horses' mane. "Of course you did. I bet you like it here."

"Orys, good morning." a voice said from behind him.

He turned in surprise, before seeing who it was.

"Good morning Robb. I trust you slept well." Orys said.

"I did. And did you? After what happened yesterday I would not be surprised if you had not slept well." Robb replied.

"I slept well. And I am sorry for what happened yesterday. I...I do not usually get that angry. Joffrey riled me, that's all." he said.

"Well then we'd best forget about it." Robb replied. "Are you excited for the hunt?"

"Of course! I'll get to see how much tougher the Northern animals are than the Southern ones!" Orys said.

"Oh they are much, much tougher than your soft Southron deer, believe me!" Robb replied.

"Indeed they are." a voice from behind Robb said. As the two boys turned to look who it was, Jon stepped forward with a smile upon his face. "Brother. Orys. It is good to see that you are ready for the hunt. I would be most disappointed if I had to go alone!" he said, smirking. However, his expression turned dark quickly after he had said it: "It will be my last hunt. I am going to join the Night's Watch." he said.

"What!? Why!?" Robb shouted. "Why would you leave?"

"Because I do not fit in here. I am not wanted here.! Jon replied.

"Of course you are! What makes you say that?" Robb asked.

"I know I am not wanted here, nor will I ever be. The Wall is the only place I will fit in." Jon said.

"No it is not. You can come south with me. To King's Landing." Orys cut in.

"Why? Why would you want me there?" Jon asked, clearly surprised by the offer.

"I need a friend. And someone who can fight." Orys said. "You could be my guard?"

"I...I will think on your offer, though I do not understand why you would want a bastard to guard you." Jon stuttered.

"And you think that bastards are somehow less capable than noble men? My brother wouldn't last ten seconds in a fight with you. You're even better than Robb!" Orys said. "Look...just think about it, okay? I wouldn't want you to resign yourself to a life on the Wall without having at least seen the South. If you still want to join the Night's Watch then you can, of course, do so." Orys said earnestly.

Jon nodded, the confusion obvious on his face. As he did so, the King strode into the courtyard, followed by Lord Stark and his Kingsguard. He walked over to where Orys was standing, in order to greet his son.

"Orys! I am glad that you have decided to come with us! I would be bored shitless if you weren't coming. I would still have Ned for company, but it wouldn't be the same. Anyway, I wish you good luck on the hunt today boys." Robert said, walking off to find his horse.

"Well, shall we?" Orys asked as he turned to Robb and Jon.

"Let's go." Robb replied, mounting his horse as he did so. Orys, too, swung himself up into the saddle, patting his horse on the neck and grinning over at Robb and Jon. As he looked over at them, he caught sight of Sansa, causing his breath to catch in his throat. As he stared at her, she turned her head to look at him. Catching him staring at her, she blushed and did a small curtsey; in response, Orys inclined his head and smiled. During the small exchange, the King had already begun to leave, and everyone who was anyone was going with him; this meant that there was a huge rush of horses and men, all jockeying for a position close to the King. Turning back to Robb and Jon, the three young men set off on the hunt.

…

They had been hunting for the whole day, and they had not yet caught a single thing, not even a rabbit. This had, naturally, put Robert in an abysmal mood and he had been drinking solidly for the last three hours. As a result, when a stag was sighted, a huge stag with twelve points on his antlers, the hunting party surged forward, the hounds baying for blood, horns blowing, men shouting, but all of this did not matter to Orys, for he had seen it before anyone else and had chased after it as quick as a shot, bringing his spear up, ready to hurl it at his prey. Closer and closer he got, so close that he could hear the laboured breathing of the majestic animal. Then, as the stag began to slow down, Orys hurled the spear, driving it clean through the chest of the animal. Orys pulled up his horse next to the carcass, and dismounted. As he was doing so, the rest of the party caught up with him, his father leading them.

"Orys my boy! You did it! You killed the bloody stag!" Robert shouted. "Well done my son, well done! Was that your first kill?" Robert said, laughing at the end.

"Very funny Father." Orys said. "But, yes, I did kill it." he continued smugly. As he spoke to his father, Orys saw Joffrey come riding up, once again surrounded by Lannister guards. "Hello Joffrey. It looks like you missed all the fun. You must have been chasing something spectacular to have missed this." Orys said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Huh, a lucky shot brother. I am sure you won't do so well next time." Joffrey sneered.

"A lucky shot? Even if it was lucky, which it wasn't, I still managed to take the stag down. What have you killed today?" Orys retorted. Joffrey didn't reply, his face instead twisting into an arrogant sneer. He wheeled his horse around and began the ride back to Winterfell, followed by his Lannister guards.

Robert turned back to Orys, after making a joke about his heir to Lord Stark. "Well, I think that will do for the day. Now let's get back to Winterfell. I don't want to miss the feast. We'll be eating that bloody big stag you just killed." Robert said. He turned and walked back to his horse. "Gods, if that thing doesn't taste good I swear I'm going to kill any bloody Lannister that I see..." he muttered under his breath. He turned his horse, motioning for the rest of his retainers to follow him, before spurring it into a gallop.

Orys turned back to the stag as his father rode away, looking at its magnificent pelt, as Robb and Jon dismounted their horses and walked over to their friend.

"Orys," Jon began, "I have thought about your offer and I think that...I think that I will accept it. If you are happy with it, that is." he continued. Orys turned to look at the two young men that had quickly become his friends.

"Of course I am happy with it! I would be honoured to have you accompany me back to King's Landing." he said, an infectious grin upon his face. Jon and Robb smiled in return; Robb, glad that his brother wasn't committing to a life on the Wall, Jon, happy that he was being accepted at last and Orys, because he finally would have a friend in King's Landing.

"Well, we'd best be on our way. After all, we don't want to miss the feast do we?" Orys joked. And with that, the three friends mounted their horses, the stag slung behind Orys' saddle, and began to make their way back to Winterfell.


End file.
